A Crown in Ash (The Ostler's Boy Book 3)

Chapter Eight

Askar closed the large wooden door to his room behind us. He kept his eyes on mine as he latched it and stepped toward me.

Sneaking into the tavern had been easy. We went in through the back. He led me up the stairs that were tucked away behind the commotion of the bar, and when we passed the only patron not already enjoying the party downstairs, the Duke put his hand on the small of my back and offered the man a nod.

"Beautiful faire, my love?" he said to me. "Did you buy everything you wanted?"

It was loud enough for the stranger to hear, but not obvious that was the point. Yet, the man had paid so little attention to us or my meek reply that I wasn't sure why my chest was hammering. As if being caught on the stairs by some nobody was the end of the line for our ruse.

I was sure Askar had intended to pass me off as his wife, but as he came deeper into the room, my nerves betrayed me. The act we were about to commit was strictly spousal in its nature, and the last time I...

"Rose," he started. His fingers touched the strings that fastened the front of my frock together. "Such a lovely name. Should I call you that?"

I tried to be sly. "You did promise to call it, if I remember correctly. Surely you're a man of your word?"

He glanced at me, tugging at the first of the cords. I felt my bodice slack as I sucked in some air.

"I meant do you prefer Rose or is Rosie okay?" he asked.

"I'm scared," I breathed.

"Are you a virgin?" he wondered.

"I–" My fingers brushed his. "If I say no... Will you be appalled?"

"No." The second string came loose. "You wear a braid, and I thought I should ask. I am an analytical man, but not a judging one."

"You're wondering if I'll be... good?" I tsked. "I didn't think that mattered for men."

"Oh, Rosie," he sang. "I am sorry for the men you've endured."

"I beg your pardon?" My throat was dry.

He brought my hands to his belt. We undid it together. "Everything about sex matters," he said. "Especially your partner's experience. I am sorry for the men you've slept with who don't subscribe to that theory."

"I've only had sex once," I confessed. My hands were shaking.

We lulled toward the bed. His fingers left where mine remained, and they snaked into the roots of my braid. I hummed at the feeling as Ask drew me closer to him, bringing my mouth to his. When he kissed me, I heard and felt and sank into the breath he took in.

His belt hit the floor.

We parted only for a second before he found me again. On the second kiss, his teeth grazed the brink of my lower lip, only to be replaced by his thumb. His eyes were not just brown, but they were empires of the shade like an endless forest searching me. They were searching me.